Wait For Me
by swiftasdeer
Summary: Post 04.08; canon through the end of Season 4. Daryl loses everyone but he's a man of his word. Beth just wants to be remembered.


**A/N: This just sort of came out of nowhere. It's not necessarily what I think will happen on the show or even what I want to happen, just something I came up with.**

**I know there's lots of fics on this matter already but hopefully you guys enjoy it!**

* * *

Beth knows she's not the most desirable companion in the world's current state. And now, with the way her lungs burn from running and her legs wobble like a newborn calf, she'd be a bit flustered if she had the energy. But she's proud of herself for hiding it well, for focusing in on a goal. She got away, they both had, her and Daryl. Her mind swarms with thoughts of her sister and Glenn, Rick, Carl, oh god, Judith. Her father.

The two collapse in the grass, pure exhaustion winning out over any sense to take note of their surroundings. She wants to grab Daryl's arm and drag him back, tell him that they need to meet up with the others, but he's too far for her to touch without lifting an arm, and she can't bring herself to do that at this point. Rolling her head to the side is all she can manage.

"Daryl," she croaks, and it's not from tears. It might have been, months ago, but she knows better now.

He doesn't acknowledge her so she lets her eyes fall shut for what feels like a century. When they open again, he's looking straight through her and she knows she shouldn't even waste her breath on pleading. He won't go back there, he can't. And he won't let her go either.

She'll stick with him, because she knows she'll be pretty hopeless on her own. And right now, he's all she has left of their group.

* * *

It's unsettling how easy it's becomes for Beth to ransack a house. Before, she couldn't shake the actuality that she was rifling through somebody's belongings, items that were personal and meant something to someone at one point. Changing into other women's clothing had made her stomach turn, so she started making up stories about them in her head. Who they were, what they did, what made their life specifically special. It made things a bit easier.

They decide to hunker down in a two-story house for the night; it's getting cooler earlier these days and Daryl seems a bit more on edge, so she doesn't argue with him. Beth helps him by securing the second floor and the last room she checks has bright lilac walls and is covered in photographs of girls near her own age. Daryl appears in the stairwell, mumbling that he's gonna go secure the doors and windows, and leaves her be.

Without thinking, she moves to the dresser, rifling through the drawers for socks and underwear. If she could go back, she would relish the opportunity she had in wearing clean socks every single day. Little things like that were what got her through the day sometimes.

Her fingers skim something cool and hard, cautiously picking it up and examining it. It's a birth control pill case and she can't help but think on Maggie.

Amongst all the pictures in the room, one sits on top of the dresser, framed. It must be more cherished than the rest, she decides. A girl with long, dark hair stands laughing, the arms of a moppy-headed young man wrapped around her waist. Beth smiles lightly, tucking the pill case back into the drawer and closing it only after she's removed a few articles of clothing.

There's no point in taking off her boots, because manners don't mean much of anything these day, but she does. If she had known this girl, Beth thinks they might have been good friends. They could've talked about music and as much as it might have embarrassed her before, she might've asked for advice on sex. There's a couple trophies and ribbons mounted on a shelf and Beth realizes they could've bonded over horses too. Sparkling letters cling to the wall: KATIE.

A dull ache spreads in her chest as she thinks of this girl, probably dead. Maybe she saw her parents die. Maybe her boyfriend.

She wonders if the rest of her and Daryl's group assumes she's dead, too.

Biting back her lip, Beth moves to the closet. Her sweater is matted and covered in dry Walker blood and while she knows it's only a matter of time before any new clothing is equally disgusting, she can't help but cling to some part of her former life. Idly, she flips through the hangers, sunlight from the window bouncing off the mirror on the door, casting shards of sparkling daylight throughout the whole room.

Her hand stumbles upon a lavender sundress, light and airy. She considers it for a moment before quickly disrobing and slipping the dress on over her head. Smoothing down the front, she takes a moment to look at herself in the mirror. It's a somewhat frightening sight, her wild, frizzy hair and unbelievably filthy skin. Her tan lines stand out like she's never seen but it's the grime that really surprises her. It strikes her that she probably smells (really awful), but it's not like that matters much these days. Daryl is the only company she has and he probably doesn't even notice, given he stinks nearly all the time too.

The dress fits her alright, the band around the waist slightly loose and the sweetheart neckline sagging, showing off far too much of her bra and skin. She's aware she had lost weight but this really hits home; she can feel her ribs through the cotton and counts them out. The dress hits just above her knees and she feels a bit silly because she hasn't shaved in God knows how long. But she loves it. She imagines trading clothes with this girl and gossiping about boys. There wouldn't have been much to say about Jimmy; he was sweet and a gentleman if there ever was one. They'd kissed plenty and let their hands wander quite a bit, but thinking on it now, Beth couldn't imagine having done more with him. Zach, maybe, probably in time; but she never felt a real deep connection with him.

Movement in the corner of the mirror catches her attention and her eyes land on Daryl in the reflection. He looks a bit confused but still wears the stoney expression he always does.

"I'm not keeping it," Beth quickly explains, fingers nervously playing with the straps of the dress. "I just... can't remember the last time I wore a dress."

Her face heats up as he seems to stare straight through her for too long a moment. And then he simply mutters something under his breath before disappearing down the hall.

Somewhat embarrassed, she quickly shakes off the dress and opts for the more conventional choice of a t-shirt and jeans. And thankfully, a clean, warm sweater.

This room belonged to a girl named Katie. She was eighteen when everything happened; she had lots of a friends, a loving family, and a cute boyfriend. Her favorite color was purple and she had a knack for riding horses.

With a shaky sigh, Beth neatly hangs the dress back up and shuts the closet door quietly. She slides on her boots and picks up all her discarded clothing. The room appears just as she found it, like she was never there save for a few missing items tucked under her arm. But Beth hopes Katie would've understood.

* * *

It seems everything comes full circle eventually. Daryl thinks back to his time at Hershel's farm and most certainly prison, how the person he was there is nothing like who he is now. He thinks on Merle and how people become the things they do and sometimes, they become the things they hate. Daryl would hate himself if it hadn't gotten him this far.

Trust never came easy to him before the end of the world and that's how it should have stayed. Along the way, he made friends, he found himself a family, and it only led him to feeling more alone than ever. How he longed for a pack, for people who needed him and cared for him, and they did. When he allows himself to think of Rick and Michonne, Carol, Glenn, Maggie, Carl... there is still a small wave of warmth that rushes through his chest, but it's always followed by a bitter emptiness.

He's been on his own for less than a year; it was nearing the end of summer when Rick was lost. Losing him was the last straw. It was hard enough seeing everyone else fade away, but Rick was his brother. And seeing him go had left Daryl changed for good. They were so close, they were in North Carolina, and he was gone like that.

It is just Daryl now, he has nobody. And it's not the first time he's felt that way. She was right, but wasn't she always? He is the last man standing.

Getting by on his own isn't too much of a hassle when he focuses in on it; in fact, he reasons it's better because he's not distracted by his worry for anybody else. He hunts and presses on north, keeping off the main roads and not trusting a soul. He kills a few men but he has to, he reminds himself every night when he tries to rest. He must do what he has to, to make it there. It's the least he can do for his fallen family.

Just as he's about to stop for the night, he finds a deserted campsite. It's been looted already and there's the remains of someone from long ago, but that kind of thing has no effect on him now. He rummages through the belongings still, hoping maybe he'll find a hidden can of beans or anything useful. All he comes up with is a spoon, which he pockets just because, and some sort of journal.

It's another night where he has trouble sleeping so he starts reading through the thing. He thinks it's weird for a guy to write in a damn diary, but who is he to judge anyone these days? And at least he has something to keep himself occupied.

It doesn't read like a great novel but Daryl is intrigued none the less. The guy talks about his love of photography and his dreams of moving to New York. He talks about a girl, Katie, quite a bit, and Daryl can only assume the two were together. They fought regularly about him leaving and her wanting to stay, ironically in Georgia, and run a stable. If Daryl vocalized any emotion these days, he would've snorted.

There's a shift in the writing about a third of the way through, and nearly a month gap between entries. Daryl only has to read the first sentence before he knows that it's when everything went to shit.

The handwriting is sloppier than before and the sentences less coherent, but Daryl can sense the guy's distress and anger. He also infers that Katie had been lost somewhere, somehow, on their trek to New York. The pages are heavy with guilt and he can't read anymore; it crosses his mind that the corpse not ten feet from him was a real person once upon a time, who had a life and someone to care about.

It can't be helped; Daryl's mind drifts to Beth, her long, tangled hair and warm smile, how she sang so sweetly that it pierced his chest like a knife. He can feel it now, even after not seeing her face or hearing her voice in what felt like a lifetime.

Daryl wishes he had written down all his moments and days like this guy had; then maybe she wouldn't seem like a figment of his imagination.

* * *

When Beth resigns, she lets herself have just one wish in mind. If she's going to die, like this, all on her own, then she at least wants to leave behind some sort of legacy.

She wants someone to carry on living and to remember her; even if it was just in passing, or seeing her face in a dream but not being able to place it, she wants to occupy someone's mind, in a positive way. Someone has to still be around, right? Maybe her sister and Glenn, Michonne... maybe Daryl.

Being lost doesn't even begin to cover the state of things. Escaping was the easy part compared to life on her own in the wilderness because while she feels she has walked on for days upon days, she hasn't found one sign of other people. Any good ones, at least.

It makes her laugh, thinking of how some might enjoy this. Hell, there were times before the world went to shit that she wished she could be on her own, with no sister or brother or parents to constantly bother her. What she wouldn't give for their company now. What she wouldn't give for her family.

But it's okay, because Beth hopes (no, knows) she will carry on in someone's memory and that's enough for her in this moment.

She climbs up into a notch of a tree with the little energy she has left, leaning back and curling up. She's so tired, physically and mentally, and she doesn't want to walk anymore. Thinking on the coddling she'd get from Maggie, she can't help but laugh. She hears Daryl's gruff voice in her head, just the opposite, heckling her on to keep on walking, dammit, and her laughs slowly turn into sobs.

Waking the next morning, the looming guilt in the pit of her stomach outweighs the stiffness in her neck, and she's equally shocked and amused she made it through the night without properly securing and protecting herself. Naturally in the moment that she gives up, fate won't let her do so.

She still wants to stay and rot but it's a new day and wasting the sunlight seems like a dumb idea; the tree she's settled in isn't comfortable at all either. So she forces herself to her feet and staggers on, without the faintest clue where she is headed.

* * *

D.C. was not what Daryl was expecting at all. He questions what he's doing there because he has no plans on staying, no agenda on meeting new people and sitting down together to sing Kumbaya. He's only there to settle what he had promised his family; he's there for them, even if they aren't here for him.

There's a well established town and heavy militia that remind him far too much of both Woodbury and Terminus. He avoids being seen at all costs, camping out in the tree-line and simply taking in what he sees. There's lots of people there, at least a hundred outside in the streets, and most look at ease. His gut twists in an awful way but he can't help moving closer.

He's on the outskirts and he knows he sticks out like a sore thumb; lack of proper hygiene and unsoiled clothing will do that, especially when the people strolling about still look civilized. And clean.

Stalking along a tall brick building, he wishes his crossbow was less conspicuous but he can't be reasoned to set it down. He stoops below an open window, lavender curtains fluttering in the breeze. He keeps absolutely quiet, hearing the humming inside. It's a woman and if he closes his eyes, he can place the melodic stringing of notes to a face.

Curiosity gets the best of him and he chances a glance inside, scraping his arm hard along the rough brick.

There she is, perched in a chair, legs curled beneath her body, scribbling in a notebook. Her hair is clean and tangle-free, gleaming like the sun, still pulled back and braided in the way that Daryl associates with only her. She looks older, face worn a bit more and cheekbones defined, but god if she isn't the most wonderful thing he's ever laid eyes on.

Daryl had carried hope for months that he'd find her but in his wildest dreams, he never imagined he'd see Beth in such a good state.

He wants to call out her name, hop inside, and envelop her in his arms. He wants to smell her hair and apologize over and over, till his voice fails him.

It's a dream, he reasons. He's really half conscious somewhere in the woods, clinging to his last moments of life, and seeing the only thing he has left, because his family is gone, all their hard work and perseverance left to crumble in vain. He saw them all go but not Beth, no. She is the only piece of hope he has left, however small it is, because she could be out there somewhere. She could.

It would've been a dream if Beth hadn't acknowledged him, all doe-eyed and mouth agape.

"Fancy meetin' you here," is all Daryl says, because 'I missed you' and 'are you real?' don't seem like logical things to say in this moment.

She's very still for a long moment and he thinks she might scream or lunge at him with a knife. But eventually, she pulls herself off the chair and exits the room, leaving Daryl bewildered.

Leaning back against the brick, he lets himself slide down to the grass. And she's there suddenly, rounding the corner outside, arms folded across her chest and he can't tell if she's scared or pissed or something else entirely. She still doesn't say a word.

"I looked for you. For a long time." It's true because even when he reunited with Rick and everyone else, every day's journey entailed him searching for her. For anything, any clue, as hopeless as it seemed.

His words seem to make her crack and tears start overflowing, streaking down her face. "I'm so sorry I left you."

Daryl looks up at her incredulously; he wants to reach out and wipe her cheeks clean. He refrains though, noting how far she still stands from him and how closed off she appears.

"What the hell are you talkin' about? I sent you out, I should've been-" His voice cracks and his vision blurs with his own tears. That warmth he used to feel when he thought of their people returns, spreading out through his whole body, until his toes start to tingle.

Finally she takes a step towards him before she's on the ground, crawling into him and wrapping her thin arms around his neck. She holds on so tightly, normally he'd squirm to break free, but it's been so long since he's felt any contact from another person, let alone something so tender. It's difficult, but he manages to lift his arms and pull her in even more, squeezing her into his chest.

* * *

"I thought of you every day."

Her confession tugs at his heart strings and if he could find his voice and any kind of nerve, he'd tell her the same, that the thought of her kept him going and while he really did come all the way to D.C. for their family, a small part of him hoped maybe somehow he'd get some closure on her. He means to ask if the people who took her brought her here and as if she's reading his mind, she answers his question.

"The people here are good. They'll welcome you with open arms." Her voice is soft and he just wants to close his eyes and listen to her murmur forever, but the burning coursing through his arm as she cleans out the scrape keeps him alert. "If you are gonna stay, I mean."

"I ain't leavin' you." He says it almost too quickly and she notices it too, but all she does is smile at him. "You're my family."

Tucking her hair behind her ear, Daryl openly stares at her. He wants to commit every inch of her to his memory, every type of smile and all the things she makes him feel with just a simple look. He'll keep track of them all in a journal and then maybe after he's long dead and gone, someone will find it and read it. They'll lament on how pointless his existence was but how it was eventually given meaning thanks to her.

She bandages his cut and presses a kiss to his forearm, sending sparks across his skin and throughout his entire body.

"Then let's be a family."


End file.
